If the place had been a cosmetics testing lab, a fly-by-night puppy mill, or a dog-fighting ring, I could understand their interest in burgling it. In fact, if that had been the case, I’d have been surprised that they’d left Dad and Dr. Blake behind. But the Spare Attic?
Was the burglary related to the murder or just a distraction?
I wasn’t going to get any answers here, and I wasn’t getting any warmer, either. The inhabitants of the Pines were starting to drift back indoors, and I saw that Ainsley Werzel had taken refuge in his car and was talking to someone on his cell phone.
Make that trying to talk to someone on his cell phone. As I watched, he threw the phone violently onto the floor and I could see him mouthing what I suspected were curses. Cell phone reception in the remoter parts of Caerphilly County was unreliable at the best of times, and tended to shut down entirely in bad weather.
I got back in the truck and headed slowly for home.
Michael was just wheeling the motorcycle into our barn when I pulled into the driveway. I spotted a cluster of vehicles farther toward town, where the road wound through a small stand of trees. I went out to the middle of the road to get a better view.
Michael strolled up beside me.
“Motorcycles are definitely a lot more fun in the summer,” he said. “I’m chilled to the bone. What’s going on down there?”
“No idea,” I said. “Should we go and see?”
“Not me,” he said. “My teeth are chattering. I’m going to go in and build up the fire. You should join me.”
“In a minute,” I said. “There’s someone heading this way.”
Apparently Michael’s curiosity was as strong as mine. Even though his teeth really were audibly chattering, he stayed with me until we recognized Deputy Sammy trudging toward us through the snow.
“Are your phones working?” he called.
“Went out with the power hours ago,” Michael said. “And I haven’t tried my cell phone recently, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Darn,” Sammy said. “Ours aren’t working either. And a big old tree fell across the road while we were out at the Spare Attic. No way to get over or around. Do you have a chain saw?”
“Sorry, no,” Michael said. “We’ve got a couple of bow saws.”
“Thanks,” Sammy said. “But the trunk is two feet in diameter. I don’t think a bow saw’s going to be much use.”
“I’m really sorry,” Michael said. “I’ve been meaning to get a chain saw, but I just haven’t gotten around to it.”
News to me. I wasn’t even sure Michael had ever used a chain saw in his life, and I couldn’t think of anything he ever did that seemed to require one. Then again, chain saw cravings were definitely Y-chromosome linked. Michael and Sammy were shaking their heads solemnly, as if Michael were confessing and Sammy graciously absolving him of a serious moral failure. If only I’d known, I’d have given him a chain saw for Christmas instead of the llama.
“Maybe we can borrow one from a neighbor,” I said. “Seth Early’s only a mile away.”
Sammy and Michael looked at each other, then shook their heads, as if admitting that even a chain saw wasn’t worth floundering another mile through the snow with temperatures in the teens.
“Meanwhile, invite whoever’s trapped on our side of the tree to come in and warm up,” I added.
“You’re got heat?”
“We’ve got a fire in the fireplace,” I said. “And blankets. And we can make instant coffee on the camping stove. If you’re hungry, we could even grill something.”
“I’ll go tell the chief,” he said. He trudged back toward the cluster of vehicles.
While Michael stirred up the fire and started the water for coffee, I readied beds for the overnight guests we’d probably be having. I changed the sheets in Rob’s room and the guest room, added extra blankets, and dragged the rest of the available bedding to the living room. Anyone who valued privacy more than heat could drag his bedroll into one of the empty bedrooms, and the rest could have the two sofas or bivouac at the foot of the Christmas tree on our camping mattresses.
“Do you think we’ve got enough blankets?” Michael asked.
“Probably not, but this is all we have,” I said. “And it’s not as if we can go out in the middle of the night in a snowstorm and buy more.”
“We could borrow some gear from the Boy Scouts—I doubt if they made it back out to their campsite tonight.”
“Great idea,” I said.
Just then the door opened, and our guests stumbled in. Caroline, Clarence, Chief Burke, Sammy, two other Caerphilly officers, and Cousin Horace. The officers were all carrying plastic garbage bags and powerful flashlights.